


Save that, to die, I leave my love alone

by Some_Cup_Of_Tea



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, Slice of Life, Sort Of, some Angst??, this is my first ao3 fic I HAVE NO IDEA how tagging works sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Cup_Of_Tea/pseuds/Some_Cup_Of_Tea
Summary: Love needs to be strong, especially when you know death will take it from you soon.Or basically Jaskier antagonizing over aging while his White Wolf stays the same.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 9





	Save that, to die, I leave my love alone

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at summaries, sorry. Title is from the Sonnet 66 by Shakespeare. English is not my 1st language and I have no beta, so I am truly sorry for any mistakes in grammar and punctuation.  
> Socially-distant hugs and kisses, hope you like it xoxo  
> NEITHER the characters nor the universe belong to me.

Jaskier opened his eyes, instantly cringing from the pain in his joints. Winter was going hard on him, for sure. Especially living in a stone keep. Kaer Morhen was no straw house that could be blown away by the wind, but cold still seeped through it. Of course, it was much easier to survive with a warm, unnaturally warm body beside him. The owner of said body stirred a little in his sleep, so Jaskier waited till certain witcher calmed down to untangle himself from his octopus wolf. Geralt didn’t even twitch.  
It endeared Jaskier greatly – Geralt trusted him enough to let his guard down in his sleep. A naughty voice inside his head reminded him that they were home, but, well, it’s not like this only happened at the witcher’s keep.  
The bard decided to go and wash himself, while it was still early. Geralt would soon wake up himself, and although Jaskier loved his witcher and his brothers, he really wanted a moment for himself. The springs were comfy enough for 4 people at once, but the three witchers together and after a long workout were a very loud little crowd. It warmed Jaskier’s heart – seeing Geralt grinning widely and laughing, not quietly snorting, but even for the bard it was… too much sometimes.  
Jaskier grabbed a fresh doublet (he didn’t have enough warm breeches to wash too often and he already changed his cloak yesterday, so it was the only change), and his cherished linen bag of various soaps, oils and a razor.  
Even two layers of wool socks and a pair of boots didn’t save his feet from seeping cold. But oh! was the warmth of the spring ever so welcoming and rewarding. Jaskier loved to soak in this water, even though he had to be in the coolest spring (and it still made him red like a freshly boiled lobster). He felt his muscles soften and limbs loosing. He was still drowsy from sleep and the water was welcoming like a warm blanket…  
Jaskier jerked awake, splashing the water. He slipped off for a couple of minutes, but now was the time to wash. Geralt liked when the bard’s hair smelled of chamomile (because it was the most frequently used on his own hair and he liked it when Jaskier smelled like him, the possessive bastard), so chamomile oil it was.  
After the bath, red-faced and all fresh Jaskier was ready for the day. He took one last look in the polished silver oval Yennefer brought in the keep saying that “while you lot are uncultured brutes, I do care how I look”. Nothing was out of the ordinary: wet brown hair, blue eyes (and thank you, Yennefer, still no wrinkles except for some worry ones), one day grey stubble…  
WAIT. What do you mean “grey”????? He was not a young boy by a long shot, but the touch of grey sure was a startling novelty. Praying for it to be a play of light, Bard shaved so quickly that even his experienced hands didn’t stop the cut from happening. Well, blood was better than this anyway.  
One might think this to be a manifestation of egoism, self-love and concern for appearance, but no. This was for someone who was now in their shared bed. Geralt, who hadn’t changed in over thirty years of their acquaintance, seemed genuinely unsettled every time there were any reminders or hints of the most unpleasant difference between the two: the transience of human life on earth.  
The morning passed, then the whole day and, while Geralt did get concerned about the blood (My love, it’s just a shave cut, I’m okay), it was better than him seeing the stubble and getting distressed. Jaskier let out a content sigh, embraced by his love and fell asleep. All was well.


End file.
